


Unraveled

by tachikoma_rancher



Category: Tangled (2010)
Genre: Aging, Character Death, Depression, F/M, Loss, Love, Magic, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:18:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4326594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tachikoma_rancher/pseuds/tachikoma_rancher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flynn and Rapunzel have found their fairytale ending.  And the magic of the golden flower is gone, along with Rapunzel's flowing hair.  Or is it?  Be wary of using magic you cannot control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unraveled

_Flower gleam and glow,_

_Let your power shine,_

_Make the clock reverse,_

_Bring back what once was mine._

 ***

And they lived happily ever after.

That's how the stories end, trailing gently off into the sunset.  The prince and princess go on, to live out their lives as most people do.  And we are left to assume that – though not every moment is absolute bliss – they will, indeed, be happy more often than not.

This is what Rapunzel believes.

And, at the beginning of her “happily ever after”, it seems as though everything around her agrees.

She is finally free from a lifetime of imprisonment in Mother Gothel's tower.  She is part of a family that never stopped thinking of her.  And she has him.  Her roguish prince with a heart of gold.  The man who, for her, is both friend and lover.  The man whose life was worth every drop of power that remained once her long, golden hair was gone.

Flynn.

Yes, these seem to be the ingredients for a fairytale.

***

For a while, things play out exactly as they should.  The King and Queen rule, as they always have; watching the bond between their daughter and her beloved grow deeper each day.  Rapunzel divides her time between Flynn and her royal duties – though she makes no secret of which she prefers.  She knows that, someday, she will ascend the throne; taking the weight of the kingdom upon her shoulders.  But, for now, she is young and in love.  So the kingdom watches with wistful indulgence – giving the couple this brief, idyllic season before reality intrudes on their blissful solitude.

***

In time, a son arrives.  And then, a daughter.  The happy calm that surrounds their family grows – and they enjoy it, knowing that it is not limitless.  The King and Queen smile with pride, and a remembrance of their own young family.  Though still beloved, it is clear that the monarchs are growing older.  They must soon place their crowns on younger heads.

As the children grow, so do their parents' royal duties.  And yet, they remain close.  Now, the loving eyes of parents and grandparents alike are on the pair as they share the welcome task of raising the rambunctious duo – the boy with his mother's eyes and father's charm; the girl with her father's smile and mother's song.

***

They knew that, as the years passed, they would bring loss.  It is inevitable.  

Pascal was first.  And though Rapunzel thought herself prepared, the pain of his death proved no less sharp.  He was her oldest friend.  A living link to her secluded past.  And now...he is gone.  The princess cannot help but wonder – feeling the ache in her heart from this first, true parting – how she will deal with the other, greater losses that time brings.

She watches, powerless, as Maximus – their stalwart steed – grows slow and grey.  Pride battles with age for a while; the old horse unwilling to accept his limits.  The end, when it comes, surprises them all – except, she thinks, for Maximus, himself.  She sees him last, nestled in the bedding of his stall.  He looks peaceful, and she knows she should be glad that he did not suffer.

But still...it hurts.

***

Time marches on, blunting the pain of past sorrows with present joys.  Rapunzel and Flynn ascend the throne – their children now a prince and princess in their own right.

The new Queen and her King find themselves caught up in the whirl of court life and diplomacy.  Their family bonds, while still strong, are often tested by the sacrifices they must make in the name of duty.  But as Rapunzel and Flynn find themselves called away with increasing regularity, they can, at least, rest easy knowing that their children thrive under the guidance of their grandparents – the former monarchs teaching them lessons about life both in and out of court.

***

Still more years pass, and Rapunzel sees her parents grow ever-older.  Her father's hands shake with palsy, and an unknown malady steals the life from his body; it takes his mobility, then his speech, and finally his sight.  When he falls into a sleep from which he does not awaken, Rapunzel cannot deny that her grief is tempered by thankfulness.  Death, in this case, is better than the shadow-life the old King left behind.

Her mother's passing is far more sudden.  She simply dozes off one afternoon by the fire, and does not stir when Rapunzel comes to wake her for supper.

The shock of losing her mother with so little warning sends Rapunzel into deep, profound mourning.   She feels the weight of previous losses as never before, and she weeps for them all.  Yet the greatest sorrow is reserved for her parents.  Their death marks the loss of something beautiful – the tangible love and acceptance of a family; all the more precious for having been both lost and found.

But even the deepest grief fades, becoming distant – especially under the weight of a kingdom.  And eventually Rapunzel accepts these losses as the natural order of the world.  

Still...somewhere in the back of her mind, unease stirs; a feeling of impending doom that will not dissipate.  Try as she might, she cannot put a name to it.  Soon, her duties push it out of conscious thought – and there it waits.

***

Perhaps it is the safety and monotony of their routine that lets time slip by so quickly – almost without Rapunzel's realization.  In fact, she has all-but-forgotten the nagging sense of dread that has followed her for years now.  Then, one evening, as she and Flynn are dressing for a ball, she sees the first streaks of gray in his hair.  Such things don't appear all at once, she knows.  

And yet...she hadn't really noticed it before.

All through the night, she finds herself stealing glances at Flynn – most of which he catches, but mistakes for unsubtle flirtation.  Her husband has aged gracefully; but to an observant eye, the marks of time are still there.  Smiles are etched around his eyes and mouth, the padding of age and leisure can be found on his frame, and years of adventures in sun and rain are marked on his skin.

The more she looks, the more Rapunzel thinks; surely she, too, has changed with age.  Perhaps familiarity has caused her to disregard her own alterations – her reflection presenting her with a new, subtly-different self each day.

_'Yes,'_ she thinks, _'that must be the answer.'_

And yet...her mind, once fixed, cannot let the matter rest.  Pleading exhaustion, she leaves Flynn to see to the evening's end and goes to her room.  Hours later – when the last guest has left and even the servants are retiring – he finds her, seated in front of a mirror, staring blankly at her own image.

Rapunzel lets herself be drawn away from the mirror and into Flynn's arms.  She lets him believe that she is simply weary when, in fact, she is numb.  The vague foreboding that has haunted her all these years is slowly taking shape in her mind – and she hopes to god it is as impossible as it seems.

For this night, at least, Rapunzel is content to stop thinking – letting Flynn comfort her with hands and mouth and body.  But even as she finds solace in their shared bliss, there is still a small, hidden part of her that cries a warning – an alarm that she chooses not to hear.

Yet it grows louder each day.

***

No monarch can stop time; not even one as strong-willed as she.

Rapunzel watches her children grow – out of the last stages of coltish youth, and into the first, blazing flush of adulthood.

She remembers it well.  It had been a time when _anything_ seemed possible.

But now, she and Flynn are the past.  The generation that _watches_ while their children _do_.  The ones who see what new crop their old efforts have sown.

And her husband looks it.

A little grayer, a little slower in the mornings, and he _laughs_ when he sees the first spots of age.

But she is unchanged.

He smiles and jokes, claiming it is his luck at play.  Not only did he catch himself a royal wife, but one who ages _so_ gracefully as to be imperceptible.

She _knows_ him, though – her Flynn – and she sees the shadow behind his eyes.

Oh, it is faint now, but she still knows its name.

It is fear.

Not _of_ her; never _that_.  But _for_ her.

Flynn has always been the schemer; the planner of the pair.  The one with the foresight to predict the troubles that might come.

And what he sees in her future terrifies her.

All-the-more because _she_ sees it, too.

***

For as long as their kingdom had known magic, there had _always_ been one rule – more warning than anything, but the heartbreak it caused when ignored was its own deterrent.

Do _not_ meddle with the magic that exists outside of man's control.

All those years ago, when Rapunzel's mother had been so close to death, that rule was broken.  By a King so frantic and heartsick that _any_ payment seemed trivial next to the lives of his wife, and their unborn child.

And that mythic flower, born of the sun, was sacrificed.

The Queen and her child were saved – with no ill effects, it seemed – but the babe's hair was a shimmering swirl of gold, even then.

Did her parents wonder at its radiance; so unlike their own, darker tresses?  Did they link it in their minds with the luminous essence wrung from the flower?

Even if they did not, there was one who did – Mother Gothel.

And when she snatched the babe away – keeping her for long years in the tower – it was the flower's magic she sought...trapped in Rapunzel's golden locks.

Perhaps the King and Queen thought, each year as they released their lanterns into the sky, that theirs was an ordinary misfortune – born of mischance.  Or, perhaps, they thought it was their payment; recompense for the use of magic beyond their ken.  If so, it cannot be said that they were wrong.

Of course, the story of Rapunzel's escape – her fateful meeting with Flynn – would become well known, after all was said and done.  And at its climax lay the sacrifices of love – Rapunzel's freedom for Flynn's life; Flynn's life for Rapunzel's freedom.

She did not expect him to cut off her golden locks as he lay dying on the tower floor.  And when her power dissipated – hair fading to a quiet brown – she had no thought to spare for Mother Gothel as she turned to dust; a victim of her many years.  Her only focus was on Flynn – who had expanded her world, and in doing so become its center.

Thus, it was her love for him – and theirs for one another – that allowed her to summon the one, _final_ drop of power that remained; encasing it inside the tear that fell upon his wounded body.

At least, this is how the story went when it was told.

Indeed, this is what the tellers _believed_.

Wild magic is called that for a reason, however, and while Rapunzel believed that hers had gone with her tresses and her tears, it was not _wholly_ true.

Oh, there was no _active_ magic in her – not any longer.  Mother Gothel's song was nothing more than a bittersweet ballad – a reminder of the past.  But the power of the sun – fiery and primal – still burned in Rapunzel.

Were it not for that power, her mother would have died.

Were it not for that power, _she_ would not exist.

And because of that power, she was no longer mortal.

Oh, she laughed and cried and loved like any other, but at her core that grain of magic lay – dazzling...and _eternal_.

Perhaps, like the sun, she might fade – over a span so great that humans could not fathom it.  But how _unthinkable_ a fate, when the lives of those she loved were a mere blink in comparison – a grain of sand in the endless desert of time.

_This_ is what Flynn saw for her.

What she saw for herself, in turn.

What her parents, mercifully, did not live to see.

***

A weaker person than Rapunzel might have shattered at this revelation – dissolving into hysterics, or slipping quietly into madness.

But she is _not_ weak.

And she has Flynn.

They scour every source – scholars, sorcerers, priests, and hedge mages.  Their titles and wealth give them access beyond the common.

In the end, they _do_ learn...though it is not what they hoped.

The Queen does not age.  She will not grow old as mortals do, in the course of time.  Yet she is _not_ invulnerable.  

She can hurt...she can bleed...and through that she can die.

But time?  Time alone will never conquer her, though it will take all those around her.

Even Flynn has no joke for this.

The King and his Queen simply hold one another for an unmeasured span – and he whispers assurance in her ear as she remains silent.

For what, truly, can Rapunzel say?

Her fear has been named; and through it she feels the world silently moving on without her – running through her fingers like dust.

***

Once she _knows_ , it seems the years pass faster; though she tries to cling to them – to keep the memories of each day.

She can see her children mature – radiant in the glory of their youth.

And she sees her husband age; the slow, inevitable decay of mortal flesh.  

The day comes when she enters a room to see him, working at his desk, and catches herself thinking how _like_ her father he looks.

She leaves before he sees her, retreating to her room in tears.

And the differences only become more stark as the years roll on.  All the mirrors are gone from their quarters, now – for she could not stand to see them, reflected, side-by-side.

But she cannot hide from the truth.

The hands she holds – and that hold her – shake now with age.  The skin is paper-thin and delicate – exposing the tendons and veins underneath.

Even his voice and his smile have changed – though his eyes remain the same.

Yet, every time Rapunzel looks into those familiar, brown eyes, she only feels despair.  That _this_ is all Fate sees fit to grant her.  As if his gaze has been left untouched; a mocking reminder that within this frail mortal shell is the same vibrant, loving man who was – for so many years –  her world.

And though he is older, Flynn is still no fool.  He holds her as she closes her eyes and pretends – that they were both still young and blissful in their ignorance.

***

There comes a day when those eyes – so deceptive in their liveliness – close one last time.

The whole of the kingdom mourns for their dashing rogue-King – but the word is too weak to _begin_ to touch Rapunzel's grief.

She can only sit, closeted in _their_ room, and try to remind herself that he is gone.  That he is never coming back.  And that she cannot reach him.

She wavers between rage and regret – angry that she even lived at all, if _this_ was to be her lot; wishing desperately to meet Flynn's loving gaze once more, no matter the cost.

Rapunzel _knows_ it is not fair to put such a burden on her children, but she knows that they, too, are strong.  They have been raised for this day, and they will understand her actions – she hopes.

After Flynn's burial, she steps down as queen – leaving the throne to her son.  Her daughter finds a knack for diplomacy – the adventurous spirit of her parents serving her well in this task.

Rapunzel withdraws from palace life – from nearly _all_ life, in fact.  She keeps to her rooms now – the ones she shared with Flynn – and emerges only at night.  She walks the gardens, veiled, breathing in the fragrances of the late-blooming flowers – and those servants who pass by can hear the the bittersweet song she sings.

Only her children visit her now – a tenuous lifeline to the outside world.

***

Rapunzel cannot count the years she has existed now, out of time.  She does not _wish_ to.  Each loss has hollowed her out, bit by bit, until she is simply a shell for the loneliness that has replaced what was taken.  Each action she takes is _so_ careful – for a single misstep is all it will take to break her.

But when the shattering moment comes, it is no fault of her own.

Her son, the King, has come to visit – bringing his own, growing brood – and, as they speak over tea, she sees it.

His head turns, and there is a flash of grey.

She remembers another moment, far in the past, with Flynn – another glimpse of grey – when she did not know it for the mocking warning it was.

The teacup slips from her numb fingers and breaks on the floor.

She doesn't remember _how_ she covers it – surely, it's not her old age – but whatever her excuse, the gathering goes on.

Odd, how easy it's become to feign normality when something in your head is screaming.

***

That night, she retreats to the gardens once more.  At least she can pace in freedom, here – her feet matching the speed of the circling thoughts in her mind.

All those 'wise men', with all their words – she had worked hard to forget them when it became clear they could not help her.  But now, she remembers what they said about her power – the thing that fueled her.

Glowing.  Primal.   _Eternal_.

How human of her to get caught in the short-term.  How _mortal_.  She had been so worried about losing Flynn – so devastated when it happened – that she thought no further.

But now...she could see down the long, long road of time – see her children age and die, and their children, and their children's children.  While she remained as beautiful and hale as the day she escaped Gothel's tower.

What had she done to deserve _this_?

Rapunzel was blind to the beauty of the garden around her – to the sounds and smells of the night.  Instead, she was trapped – in the frantic static of her own thoughts, their cacophony threatening to overwhelm her.

Then, like a lifeline, a memory pulled at the corner of her mind.

A caveat.

A saving grace.

She remembered the wizened, old man who had come to her – one among dozens – and all he had done was ask for her hand.

When she extended it, puzzled, he drew from his side a dagger and, lightly, pricked her finger.

For a moment, they both watched it bleed – a fat drop gathering to hit the ground.

And then, looking at her, he said, “You may have eternal youth, my dear, but you are not invulnerable.  A dagger in the right place, and you'd be as dead as anyone else.”

Flynn, she remembered, had paled at this – but she was simply confused.  Or perhaps _overwhelmed_ would be the correct word.  She had not, of course, seen as much back then.

But the old man _had_ made an impression.  And he had urged her to keep the dagger.  For protection, she'd thought.

Now, she knew better.

***

It is the work of a moment to return to her quarters and, though she has not thought of it in years, her hands guide themselves easily to a box on the nightstand – where the dagger still remains.

Funny, how something so seemingly inconsequential has stayed close by – through the chaos and uproar of everyday life – as though it knew it would be needed.

And how easily she leaves the room with her treasure, not feeling the accustomed weight of memories pressing down upon her as she passes the threshold.

Soon, she is in the garden once more – and in the pale moonlight she unveils the dagger from its hasty covering of cloth.  She watches the silver shine on the naked blade, and is glad of the distance she feels – the separation from life.

_'Before...I would have feared this.'_

Slowly, but steadily, Rapunzel raises the dagger towards her throat – and she realizes she is humming as she does.  A snatch of song, thready and broken, travels into the night.

Then it stops.

***

They will find her in the morning, dagger dropped carelessly on the flagstones.  And the soil will be moist with something other than rain.

But she will not be alone.

Out of the stain that was her blood, there is a new shoot growing – a flower.

There it will bloom – as golden as sunlight...and as eternal.

***

_Heal what has been hurt,_

_Change the fates design,_

_Save what has been lost,_

_Bring back what once was mine,_

_What once was mine._


End file.
